


The Singularity and The Line

by skai_heda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellamy Blake-centric, Character Study, Clarke Griffin-centric, F/M, Hurt, Post-Episode: s04e13 Praimfaya, Post-Episode: s06e05 The Gospel of Josephine, Relationship Study, S6 speculation, kind of a confusing ending ig, some tough stuff i'm warning you, written before 6x06 aired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:39:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skai_heda/pseuds/skai_heda
Summary: If there's one thing Bellamy knows, it's that there's a very thin line between cruelty and love.And if there's one thing Clarke knows, it's that her job is to give everything, and let the world take without any objections.





	1. The Line

If there's one thing Bellamy Blake is absolutely sure of, it's that there is a thin line between cruelty and love.

If people were to know that he felt this way, they would surely disagree. But people have not grown up the way Bellamy Blake has.

* * *

He slides the floorboard open, and Octavia crawls out, looking uncomfortable.

"You okay, O?" he asks, wrapping his arms around her.

"About as okay as always," his sister responds. He can feel her scowling at their mother over his shoulder. Bellamy turns and sees Aurora Blake standing there. Octavia is twelve years old, and the look of remorse that used to be etched into Aurora's face whenever Octavia had to hide is long gone.

Emptiness. That is all there is.

Aurora takes one look at her son's pointed glare and walks over to her daughter, giving her a stiff hug. "Octavia. Bellamy. Everything I do for you two, I do it out of love."

_This is not love._

Bellamy holds his tongue. He does so out of love.

* * *

"May we meet again," he murmurs, not daring to watch Clarke disappear into the woods. 

 _She needs this,_ his head says.

His heart screams for him to run after her, to force her to stay.

_She needs this._

They are toeing the line.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. Doesn't he?

He walks towards the ruins of the Ark, letting her go, letting her leave him, letting her give all the responsibility to him.

He does so out of love. 

* * *

"You're dead to me," she will sob, and Bellamy won't see anything except blood. Blood that his sister will draw.

Bellamy Blake fights back.

The ground is always trying to kill him, but he fights back.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. Doesn't he?

He should fight back.

But not in here, in this dim cave. 

In this cave, he lets Octavia Blake hit him again and again, lets her unleash the full force of her rage onto him.

He does so out of love.

* * *

Octavia loves him, doesn't she?

It is his love that makes him believe that she does.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. 

He believes because of their love.

(it is not love.)

* * *

The planet burns. He does too. Collapses onto the bed, Echo lying against him.

He should never do this again.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. He knows.

_Clarke..._

He tells Echo that he won't do this again.

He does so out of love.

* * *

He does it again, and again, and again.

"What am I to you?" Echo finally asks.

"Home," he tells her.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. Doesn't he?

* * *

On the fourth anniversary of them leaving the planet, he breaks down again.

"I left her," he chokes. "I left her."

"She's dead," Echo tells him. "She's dead, and I'm sorry, Bellamy, but there's nothing you can do about it."

Each word is like a bullet, in the head, in the heart, in the spine, in the gut, killing him again and again.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. Doesn't he? Does she?

He and Echo have been together for almost a year now, and Echo always tells him this.

"She's dead. There's nothing you can do."

He can only conjure one explanation.

She does so out of love.

* * *

"Nothing will change on the ground."

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is.

_Nothing will change._

He tells her this, and he means it.

He does so out of love.

* * *

"Clarke's alive?"

* * *

Clarke is screaming and screaming, trying to pull herself free from the handcuffs. 

"You promised!"

The words hit him, almost physically knocking him over.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. He has to know, or he will not survive in a world as unforgiving as this one.

He leaves her.

He does so out of love.

* * *

The line is blurry to him.

Clarke leaves him to die.

Does Clarke Griffin know where the line is?

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

Bellamy knows where the line is. He knows that sometimes the line is closer to people, and sometimes it is farther. But the line is the same. 

Clarke should know where the line is.

Clarke knows.

She leaves with her daughter. She does not try to save him.

She does so out of love, but not love for him.

* * *

Was he any better than her, though?

* * *

He lies awake in the impossibly soft beds of Sanctum.

_Do you know where the line is?_

"You never told me how you felt about it," Echo murmurs to him.

"Felt about what?" he asks.

"Clarke being alive. Leaving you."

"You know she did the right thing in the end," Bellamy says.

"That's not what I'm talking to you about," Echo murmurs.

He pauses.

"I don't know," he says finally. "Relieved, I guess."

There's a short silence.

"I tried to kill her," Echo finally says. "I... I was going to strangle her."

Bellamy turns to face her.

"I'm not proud of it," Echo says quickly. "I know I crossed the line. I'm sorry."

The line.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. 

"It's okay," he says.

Echo knows where the line is, doesn't she?

He believes this. He has to.

He does so out of love.

* * *

Bellamy snaps at her. 

Later he holds Echo as she cries.

Clarke is off somewhere, having fun with god knows who, and Bellamy would be lying if the thought didn't bother him just a little, like a steady tapping on the inside of his skull. Insistent.

Echo is his priority, and he ignores Clarke.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. 

He ignores Clarke, and he tries to fill his mind with thoughts of Echo.

He does so out of love.

* * *

"Josephine Lightbourne. Nice to meet you."

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

The cruelty, the woman standing in front of him, with her horrible smirk and her horrible voice and her horrible everything that is not Clarke's, that could never be Clarke's.

Love.

Cruelty wears the face of love, and tears cascade down Bellamy's cheeks.

Where is the line?

Lying there in the dark, Bellamy realizes that he never knew where the line was.

He never knew.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

* * *

He breaks things.

It is not fair.

Cruelty and love.

Josephine can go to hell. Russell can go to hell. Murphy can go to hell.

_He'd just gotten her back._

(she's dead, and there's nothing you can do about it.)

He remembers.

An ugly sort of relief in Echo's eyes as she tells him this over and over again. His body against the cool metal,  _you're my family, too,_ a needle sinking into his neck,  _I lost sight of that,_ Josephine Lightbourne and she's dead and there's nothing you can do about it.

Echo knew where the line was.

Echo crossed it.

_Gina Gina Gina Gina Gina Gina_

But Echo is good now.

Echo wasn't good then, but she is now.

But that somehow doesn't seem to affect her awareness of the line.

Why is he thinking about Echo, when Murphy is speaking to him a frustrated parent would to a belligerent child, urging him to see reason?

Bellamy sits among the broken chairs.

Where is the line?

Maybe no one knows where the line is. And if they do, they're not afraid to cross it.

"Fuck off, Murphy," he says, hoping Murphy will understand.

He does so out of love.

* * *

Fingers coiling around Russell Lightbourne's throat.

"You took her!" he screams. He's aware of Josephine watching with detached interest from a few feet away. "You son of a bitch, you took her!"

Murphy pulls him away, and he's going to scream.

"Oh, Bellamy," Josephine says, stalking over to him and cupping his face, holding it with a vicelike grip. Cruelty wearing the face of love.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is. 

Josephine Lightbourne is the line.

And he fully intends to cross it.

He will cross it, and this world will burn.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

Bellamy will start the fire.

* * *

Murphy tricks everyone else into captivity, and he sits with his hands bound, facing Echo and Emori and Raven and Jordan. He does not know where Gaia and Madi are, and for that he's glad.

"What the hell is going on?" Raven demands, her brace clanging when she moves her leg. "What the hell did Clarke do this time?"

"Raven," Echo says warningly.

"Don't 'Raven' me," Raven snarls. "Shaw died because of her."

"No, he didn't," Bellamy says quietly, but Raven doesn't hear him.

"And now Clarke's been off living like some royal, probably sold us out for something again, and she got Murphy in on it, too—"

"CLARKE IS DEAD!" Bellamy screams, silencing everyone and everything. Raven gapes at him in surprise, because Bellamy Blake has never, ever snapped at her like that.

It is the first time he's said it out loud, that he's admitted it.

But it's not admittance if he doesn't believe it, right?

"Clarke is dead," he says again. "They killed her."

"How?" Jordan asks. There are tears in his eyes.

"Same way they killed Delilah," Murphy says, walking into the room. Emori shoots him a dirty look.

"No," Jordan breathes. "That means she has to be alive in there somewhere. Delilah is still in there. Clarke is still there."

"What's the matter, Raven?" Bellamy asks, suddenly overcome with rage. "Why so silent all of a sudden?"

"I didn't know," Raven says in a small voice.

"No, you didn't know, because all you fucking know is how to point fingers, don't you? Especially at Clarke," Bellamy spits, and he's aware of the tears blurring his vision, and he doesn't even care anymore. "And she's dead now. Are you happy? Are you fucking happy, Raven?"

"I wasn't wrong," Raven snarls. "It's her fault we end up in messes like these, anyway."

"Don't you fucking dare—" Bellamy starts, straining against his restraints.

"Back off, Bellamy," Echo says.

"Oh, that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" he asks, turning to her. 

"Don't," Emori says warningly. "Don't be cruel, Bellamy."

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is.

Bellamy falls silent, sparing them from the rest of his feverish anger.

He does so out of love.

* * *

Perhaps he will never understand where the line is.

* * *

Murphy sneaks them out.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Bellamy says.

"I understand why you did, though," Murphy replies.

* * *

The Children of Gabriel save them.

To his dismay, he finds Octavia and Diyoza there, under the care of a man named Xavier.

And another man, with a permanently sad face, approaches them, and Josephine, who is tied up, yet still has the audacity to wear that smirk.

The smirk must be a trademark for her, because the man steps forward.

"Josephine?"

"Gabriel," Josephine replies, her smirk turning into a feral sneer. "I told you I would find you."

"Shut up," Bellamy snaps.

"It seems you've got some explaining to do," Gabriel says softly.

* * *

"You're sure this will work?" Bellamy asks, feeling apprehensive at the sight of Gabriel readying an array of scalpels and dusting off monitors.

"It's the only way. We can't bring her back. She has to come to us."

Bellamy nods, his body still trembling with detached rage.

And for the first time, there is fear on Clarke... on Josephine's face.

"You're going to hurt her," Josephine says. "Her mind is gone, but this body can still be broken. And you don't want that, don't you?"

Bellamy grabs one of the sedatives from a table in the room and jams it into her neck.

_Now you know how it feels._

Despite his urges, he doesn't catch her as she falls.

He does so out of love.

* * *

"Bellamy. You need to calm down," Echo says, grabbing his shoulders, holding him back from the woman screaming, trying to break free of the restraints tying her to the bed.

"She doesn't want to come back!" Josephine screams with a gleeful laugh, black blood dripping from her mouth. "Oh, she can't find a reason to come back!" Josephine looks squarely into Bellamy's eyes. "Not even you, sweetheart. Doesn't even want to come back for you. I'm fighting her as much as I can, but I don't even really have to. Oh, how you all  _hate_ her. Why would she come back?"

"I said  _SHUT UP!"_ Bellamy yells.

Echo drags him out of the room with surprising force, and glares at him. "What the hell is your problem, Bellamy? You have to get a grip on yourself."

"Really?" he asks angrily. "Tell me, Echo. Tell me how I keep calm in a situation like this."

"Pointless," Octavia drawls from a corner.

Bellamy whirls around, glaring at his sister. "What did you say?"

"It's pointless to discuss Clarke with Echo," Octavia mutters.

"Clarke is dead," Echo says. "Come on, Bellamy. You don't actually expect this to work, do you?"

"It has to," Bellamy stubbornly insists.

"And if it doesn't, you'll fly into a rage and ruin the only home we'll have on this moon?" Echo asks in disbelief. 

"It's Clarke," he says desperately.

"And that justifies everything?" Echo scoffs.

_Don't be cruel._

"You've always wanted her dead," Bellamy murmurs.

"She's a threat to all of us. To our peace." She doesn't even try to deny it.

"You defended her," Bellamy says weakly. 

"I did it out of love for you!" Echo snaps.

"That was not love," he says. "That was cruel."

"Bellamy."

"Don't," he says. "Don't talk to me. This is it, Echo. I won't do this anymore."

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

Where is the line?

* * *

Clarke isn't speaking to anyone, but she's back. At least, Bellamy hopes so. Her facial expressions and her silence are closer to Clarke's regular behavior than it is to Josephine.

Bellamy Blake sincerely believed he knew where the line was.

In reality, the truth is a little more disappointing than that, as all things are. Expecting sunshine and finding a cloudy sky, the clouds shining through small cracks and creating a weak imitation of sunlight. 

He knew the line existed, but Bellamy had always placed things on the wrong sides of the line. Things that he believed had been done out of love, which in reality were nothing more than perfect cruelty.

Perhaps all it took to understand was to see it.

Echo is the line. Echo is the line because Echo would do cruel things because she loved him. 

And who's fault is that, really?

Josephine was the line. Josephine was the line because Josephine would go to any length of cruelty to get what she wanted, and she wore the face of someone that Bellamy had...

Loved.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is.

In order to know where the line is, he must first understand what cruelty is, and what love is. And he must understand the difference.

He must also understand that sometimes there is no difference.

Clarke.

Clarke had been cruel to him. Clarke had loved him. Clarke is the line as well, but whereas Josephine and Echo represent the cruelty threatening to spread, the cruelty raging against the love, Clarke is the balance.

And at the same time, no one is the line.

Echo is the cruelty.

Josephine is the cruelty.

And Clarke is the love.

All three of them are perfectly capable of both. But it's what they choose that matters, not what they're able to be.

Echo would choose cruelty. It's in her blood. Josephine would choose cruelty. It's the basis of her survival.

But Clarke wouldn't.

Clarke would choose love.

It is after a long silence, him leaning against the metal shack nestled deep in the woods, that he goes inside.

He makes it the door of the room Clarke's in before he stops.

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is.

 

 

 

 

(everything I do, I do out of love.)

Cruelty and love. Cruelty and love.

He knows where the line is.

 


	2. The Singularity

Infinite density and zero volume.

A point in time where everything changes.

The  _defining_ moment.

The center of a black hole.

"Bed, kiddo," Jake Griffin says, standing in the doorway of her room. "Clarke, you're almost seventeen. Do I still have to tell you every night?"

Clarke flops dramatically back against her bed. "I'm in bed, Dad."

"So sleep in it," Jake sighs, coming closer. "Sleep tight, sweetheart."

"You, too," she says, closing her book and putting it to the side. "Mom's not here, is she?"

"Mom got busy again," Jake says, looking busy. Clarke feels an odd mixture of disappointment and relief, disappointment that her mom can't be with her anymore, but relieved that Abby Griffin won't get started on one of her lectures of how Clarke is going the wrong way, that Clarke needs to be more like her.

She scowls and leans over to turn off the light beside her bed.

"Clarke," Jake says. "Everything your mother does for you, she does out of love."

"I know," Clarke says. She doesn't.

 _"There's gonna be a singularity in your life one day, Clarke,"_ her mother tells her all the time.

 _"A black hole?"_ Clarke had asked in her youth.

 _"A moment,"_ Abby had said that time.  _"Where everything is going to change."_

That moment when Abby tells her this, that is the singularity. 

_But it's really up to me, isn't it? I decide how I see it, don't I? I define it._

_I am the singularity._

* * *

Jake is still smiling at her when he dies.

His body is drifting away into the cold emptiness of space, and  _oh, god, she's going to murder Wells Jaha._

Clarke feels like her whole body is fading out of existence, but there's a heavy weight in her stomach that combats that sensation.

_He's gone._

_He's gone._

_He's gone._

_He's gone._

Infinite density and zero volume.

(I decide how I see it, don't I? I define it.)

(I am the singularity.)

* * *

The moment she looks into his eyes, she knows she's going to have a lot on her hands. She's dimly aware of Wells behind her, but more aware of the words flowing from her mouth, strong and steady as if they could put up a wall between this guy and the dropship door.

He opens it anyway.

He's an ass, and Clarke already hates him.

But then she steps out into the blindingly beautiful mass of green, and she momentarily forgets about the boy with freckles dotting his face like stars.

They can live. 

But for him.

_Bellamy._

A name that holds infinite density and zero volume. An invisible list of all the problems she'll ever have.

That's his name.

He'll be a problem.

(he'll be the singularity.)

* * *

Bellamy has unknowingly placed his hand on her back as he screams for the girl whose body falls towards the darkness.

They will have to make the rules now.

And they will have to do it together.

_Is this my singularity?_

_My defining moment?_

Infinite density and zero volume.

She doesn't understand it.

(I decide how I see it, don't I? I define it.)

(I am the singularity.)

* * *

_This is on you. This is on you._

_This is on you._

_Princess._

_Should've kept your mouth shut._

That's all she does. All Clarke knows is to keep her mouth shut. 

And apologize.

Infinite density and zero volume.

She wishes Jake could've helped her understand that concept before he  _died._

(you are not the singularity, Clarke.)

(if you were the singularity it wouldn't have been on you.)

(Princess.)

(should've kept your mouth shut.)

* * *

_I am become death. Destroyer of Worlds._

With dried bloodstains ringing Bellamy Blake's eyes, Clarke feels a sudden urge to draw him.

She draws what she finds beautiful, and in that moment, she finds Bellamy Blake beautiful.

She tries to push the thought away, tries to replace Bellamy's name with  _Finn, Finn, Finn._

Finn's name has four letters, and Bellamy's has seven.

So if she were to write  _Finn_ on top of  _Bellamy,_ she knows Finn's name wouldn't overshadow Bellamy's.

And then there's  _Raven._

Clarke's name has six letters, and Raven's only has five. 

A fluke.

A singularity.

Infinite density and zero volume.

(you are not the singularity.)

* * *

Bellamy dies, and it's her fault, her fault, her fault.

She wishes she could've memorized the exact shade of his eyes for some reason.

A useless thought. He is dead. If she ever makes it out of here, she can go look at the skeleton herself.

It's a damn shame. He'd started to grow on her.

She had started to trust him, and trust is a fragile thing on this planet.

Trust has infinite density and zero volume.

And she couldn't keep his.

Clarke couldn't save him.

(you are not the singularity.)

* * *

"Thanks, Princess."

The name stings.

Finn dies peacefully.

And the price has been paid.

The defining moment in the alliance between Skaikru and Trikru, forged in blood.

Clarke can barely see the still bloodied knife in her hand, but she can feel it.

An object of

infinite

density

and

zero

volume.

This is your fault.

(you are not the singularity.)

* * *

She kills them all.

"Together," Bellamy whispers to her, his hand covering hers. She wants a moment to admire it, how much bigger his hands are than hers, how his hand so fully envelopes hers. Safety.

They pull the lever.

This is their defining moment, isn't it? Where they ensure the survival of their people.

Genocide. the defining moment.

Abby had always told Clarke there would be  _one_ moment, only one singularity. But Clarke believes she's had so many of those, she's not even sure what the singularity is.

(are you the singularity?)

Clarke couldn't find a better solution. Clarke failed.

(you are not the singularity.)

(should've kept your mouth shut.)

* * *

She leaves Bellamy.

Damn his tears, his cheek against her hair. Damn his arms around her, damn it all. 

Damn him for making her want to stay.

When she can't.

Who will she be here?

The one who committed genocide so these people could be alive right now.

That's not how she wants to be known.

She would become the singularity, but not the singularity she wanted to be.

_No. Not the singularity. You would never be the singularity._

And this is why she doesn't turn back.

(you are not the singularity.)

* * *

God, Lexa with her soft eyes and her soft hair and her soft lips, a dazzlingly beautiful soul behind a hardened woman. And god, Clarke should not fall in love with her, but fall in love with Lexa Kom Trikru she does.

* * *

Loving Lexa is strangely peaceful. Whereas Clarke had believed she would have to teach the Commander about peace, it ends up being the other way around.

There could probably never be explicit trust between the two, but then again, trust does not exist on the ground.

_We don't have to talk at all._

Lexa's tongue coaxing her lips open and her hand disappearing between her legs and it's blissful ignorance of the world outside the tower. Lexa makes Clarke's whole body go weak with the height of her pleasure, and they smile so much Clarke's face hurts, but it's okay, it's okay. This is the best kind of pain, the pain that comes from joy.

Lexa makes her happy, and finding happiness on the ground is a defining moment.

(are you the singularity, Lexa?)

* * *

Fucking Titus.

Fucking Murphy.

Fucking Wanheda bullshit.

And that fucking bullet that meant for her, for her, for her.

She deserved it, not Lexa.

Not Lexa.

It's her fault.

When has it not been?

She is nothing and no one, and at the same time she is everyone.

Infinite density and zero volume.

(but you are not the singularity.)

(singularities don't  _fail.)_

* * *

They must survive together, or not at all. That's what Bellamy Blake, with his soft eyes, is trying to tell her.

The damned list. She'd tear it into a thousand pieces and drop it into the nearby lake if she could.

But she can't. 

Even if she hides the list, it is there.

Infinite density and zero volume.

That list is the singularity. That list is the savior.

_But when did singularity and savior become the same word to you, Clarke?_

_And when did infinite density and zero volume start to symbolize the opposite of a singularity?_

But it's not the same to her.

Clarke does not want to be the savior.

She wants to be the singularity.

There's a difference, she's sure of it, but she doesn't quite know what the difference is.

_Maybe you have it all wrong._

_You should be the singularity of your own life. Not the singularity for everyone else._

Clarke remembers another definition of the word.

_The center of a black hole._

(you are)

(you are not)

(you are)

(you are not)

(the singularity.)

Is she, or isn't she?

Then Clarke realizes—

It was never for her to decide.

* * *

Burning.

* * *

_I hope I die._

(you are not the singularity.)

* * *

They left her.

* * *

Out of food, out of water, out of options, out of patience, out of time. There's a singular bullet in her gun, and she holds the gun in question to her head.

_Choose._

_Choose._

_Choose._

(are you going to be the singularity?)

She is damn well going to be a singularity.

Clarke Griffin is a dying star.

And she used to be so bright.

But the brightest stars are the biggest.

And the biggest stars have the biggest explosions.

Another thing she remembers from Jake Griffin's short, impromptu astronomy lessons, is that the larger stars collapse inward when they die.

That's how she feels right now.

A star, collapsing into a singularity.

Forming a black hole.

Destroying everything in its path.

Wanheda.

I am become death.

Destroyer of Worlds.

Commander

of

Death.

The singularity.

The elusive singularity that she'd always wanted to see, and always wanted to be.

A beautiful concept to think about—a horrendous way to live.

_So why live at all?_

* * *

A bird.

* * *

She lives.

And she misses Bellamy terribly.

Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy. To think that she'd once seen him as nothing more than a problem.

Clarke, sitting in that nice little village, suddenly breaks down.

Why didn't she get more time.

And suddenly she's thinking of how much she wanted.

Bellamy.

On some dim, detached level, she had always loved Bellamy unconditionally, with her whole heart.

Dare she say it—more than she loved Lexa.

If there was a good constant in her life, it was Bellamy.

Bellamy, standing by her, her choices, forever.

Because she would stand by him.

A respect that would never be forgotten between them.

Why?

Her eyes widen.

She was  _in love_ with him.

But she already knew that.

But it hits her now, too late, too late, too late.

A kiss.

Just one.

There had been lingering touches and glances, but not enough.

That is the tragedy, she supposes, that they may have been in love with each other, but never at the same time.

_Bellamy._

(there could've been a singularity.)

(and it would've been the most beautiful singularity in the universe.)

* * *

Madi.

(are you the singularity?)

* * *

Bellamy comes back.

* * *

Bellamy's a liar.

* * *

Clarke never would've thought that Bellamy Blake breaks promises.

But he did.

So Clarke leaves him to die.

She is the singularity now—the destructive sort of singularity, the mastermind behind the destruction.

The logic within the insanity.

The head guiding the blackened heart.

(you are the singularity.)

* * *

Only her eyes are moving, and Russell is spouting some nonsense, and she can hear her blood rushing in her ears.

_I am alive._

_I am alive._

_I am alive._

But she knows she's dying.

She feels like she's dying, because she can't see anymore, she can't feel the table she's lying on, her mouth is numb, and soon, Russell's words disappear.

Until there's only a deafening silence that gets louder and louder and she doesn't want to die not here not now please please please please please

* * *

"Josephine Lightbourne. Nice to meet you."

All Clarke sees is darkness, but for the first time since her death, she hears something. Her own voice, saying a different name. 

_Josephine Lightbourne._

This, this is the singularity.

The defining moment. 

She has found the singularity.

Darkness rushes in again.

* * *

Why does she fight?

Why the fuck is she fighting?

Why does she keep running as if she'll find a door that will lead her back home?

Where is home?

Does she have one?

Drawings everywhere in her cell.

"Get out of my head!" she screams, but Clarke has no real reason to escape.

And then Josephine lands a blow to her gut, then her nose.

She's been seeing random images of Bellamy's distraught face, of Raven's enraged expression, dimly heard an annoying imitation of her own voice. Clarke has had full awareness of the horrible things Josephine Lightbourne has done, and Clarke had seen every reaction.

(this is on you.)

(should've kept your mouth shut.)

(you are not the singularity.)

* * *

 Black blood everywhere. Hers, Josephine's, mostly Clarke's.

Josephine hits her and hits her, and at some point, Clarke realizes that she's not trying to defend herself anymore.

And suddenly, everything goes blank.

* * *

Mount Weather.

She's wearing what she wore the day she killed hundreds of people.

And she stares into the hole in the window she made when she first tried to break out.

_"What do you want, Clarke?"_

It's a familiar voice, but Clarke doesn't know whose voice it is.

"I don't know what I want," Clarke says.

 _"You know it's not true, kiddo,"_ the voice says.

Jake.

He opens the door, and wraps Clarke in his arms.

"Dad," Clarke says. "What do I want?"

"Well, I can't tell you that," Jake says, pulling away. "Can I?"

Clarke closes his eyes and turns away. 

"What you've wanted," Jake says softly. "Is to find a singularity. A defining moment in your life or a singularity within yourself."

Her dad's voice sounds weirdly faint and scratchy now.

"I..." Clarke murmurs.

"Validation," he says, except it's not Jake Griffin's voice. It is Finn's.

She whirls around.

"You've always been pushed around, haven't you? By your mother, and you hated it when the others called you privileged, pretended you had a perfect life."

There's an ugly look on Finn's face, a goading sneer.

"Finn, don't," Clarke murmurs. "Please."

"All you wanted was for Abby Griffin to acknowledge that you weren't perfect, yet at the same time, you wanted to meet her standards. And it made you want to scream, not knowing whether you wanted to exceed her expectations or whether you wanted her to lower them."

"Stop," Clarke says, closing her eyes and pressing her hands to the sides of her head. She can feel that rage, that disappointment, all those familiar feelings that she'd felt in her youth, but against her will, like someone's injecting her with a strong dose of those emotions.

"Perfect Clarke Griffin, what a joke, huh?" Anya's voice.

"Please," Clarke says, shaking her head. "Stop."

"And as soon as you get to the ground, so much responsibility, but people never understood what you had to do," Anya continues.

"No," Clarke says weakly.

"They were always counting on you," the voice of Octavia Blake spits. "And all you did was let them down. All you do is let people down."

"I'm sorry," Clarke chokes out, pressing her hands to her eyes. "I tried—"

"You didn't try hard enough!" Jasper Jordan screams, and she feels rough hands seizing her shoulders. "We wanted to trust you, but you're just a killer, justifying the lives you take with the pretense of wanting to do it for your  _people."_

"Let go!" Clarke screams, trying to pull away from the cold hands. 

"We weren't your people," Jasper spits. "If we were you would've cared more about us."

"But I did care," Clarke sobs.

"Not enough!" Echo declares. "You never cared enough about anything but yourself. Sending Bellamy to take the danger for you—"

"STOP!" Clarke says. 

"It's no wonder they left you to die," Raven says, her voice taking on the drawling quality it had when Raven had been possessed by ALIE. "Who needs you, Clarke?"

Clarke opens her mouth to say Bellamy's name, but suddenly she isn't so sure.

She's in her mind right now, and surely these words must be true.

"Never enough," ALIE herself says impassively. "It's the only constant in your life. It's all anyone ever told you."

Clarke sinks to her knees.

"Too bad it's true," Emori's voice says quietly. "No matter how much you tried, it would always come true. You would always fail. And your failures always overshadow the small things you do in a pathetic attempt to redeem yourself."

"No..."

"Clarke," a different, softer voice says, a voice that makes her open her eyes.

Lexa kneels in front of her, puts a finger under her chin. 

"Lexa?" she asks.

"You cannot listen to them," Lexa insists. "You know it's not true."

"I don't know that," Clarke says, closing her eyes again. "I don't."

"Yep," Josephine Lightbourne says, and Clarke opens her eyes yet again, watching Josephine kneel next to her. "Lexa's wrong, Clarke." Josephine grabs Clarke's face. "You are not the singularity, Clarke."

Lexa shoves Josephine aside, and kicks her for good measure. Then she helps Clarke up.

"Clarke," she says, then wraps her in a tight hug.

"Lexa..." Clarke breathes, letting her tears soak into Lexa's hair.

"They're wrong, Clarke," Lexa insists, pulling away, but still holding onto Clarke's shoulders. "Look at me.  _I_ always believed in you.  _Roan_ believed in you.  _Bellamy_ believes in you."

"I'm not a good person," Clarke breathes, lowering her head. 

"Yes, you are."

Clarke looks up.

"Clarke, I became a Commander at a very young age," Lexa says, a hint of a sad smile on her face. "And I've had to make choices that I wasn't proud of those. And a lot of those choices meant that not everyone was going to be victorious."

"People died," Clarke says.

"Yes, they did," Lexa admits. "And I, like you, believed that I wasn't good. Even up until I died."

Clarke winces at the memory. "But your intentions were good, Lexa. You only wanted peace, and you tried your best. Always."

"Yes," Lexa murmurs with a wider, more genuine smile this time. "Same as you."

Clarke realizes what she's saying, and exhales softly. Lexa leans forward and presses her forehead to Clarke's.

"I can't stay,  _hodnes,"_ Lexa says. "It's not over."

With that, she turns her face and presses a sweet kiss to Clarke's cheek.  _"Ai hod yu in, Klark."_

 _"Ai get in,"_ Clarke says.  _I know._

Lexa smiles, presses another kiss to Clarke's forehead, making her eyes flutter shut. When Clarke opens her eyes again, Lexa's gone.

"How sweet," Josephine drawls from someone else. "But sad that you need someone to pacify you and tell you that your deepest thoughts aren't true."

Clarke closes her eyes, the tears still flowing steadily. "Shut the fuck up, Lightbourne."

"Try me, Clarke," Josephine snarls. "This is your mind. This is  _your_ reality. I'm sorry you can't deal with the fact that you're a fucking terrible person—"

Clarke screams in rage and lunges forward, punching Josephine hard in the face. Clarke punches and punches, but Josephine's voice persists, even though her mouth is moving.

"Stupid, worthless, and you try for nothing—"

"SHUT UP!"

"You're dead, Clarkey! You're dead and you're never coming back! And they won't miss you, anyway!"

"SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" Clarke screams.

"Why would you go back?" Josephine asks, her voice emanating in Clarke's head while her bloodied face smiles gruesomely.

Clarke knees Josephine hard in the gut, then grabs the collar of her shirt and pulls her close.

"You listen to me very carefully, Josephine," Clarke whispers. "This is our defining moment. This is where everything changes." She punches Josephine in the teeth, making her cry out in pain. "Look.  _Look at me."_

Clarke clutches her collar with one hand, her hair with another. "I am the singularity, Josephine. I am your singularity."

And with that, she slams Josephine's head against the white floors, splattering it with red and making Josephine's eyes go glassy.

(I am the singularity.)

* * *

She wakes.

There are voices overlapping, but Clarke doesn't respond to a single one.

"Clarke. Hey!" Murphy says roughly, grabbing her wrist. Clarke slowly pulls it away. They are relieved by her response to Murphy's movement, but unnerved by her silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

There is no defining moment.

This is not one of those old movies she has seen on the Ark.

This is not special.

This is nothing.

This is not the singularity.

(you are not the singularity.)

* * *

She thinks she hears Bellamy outside her door about an hour or so after she's left alone in her room. 

* * *

After a few more hours, her screaming begins.

Murphy tries to touch her, and she flinches.

"You helped her," Clarke breathes.

He pulls away. "Hey, come on, Clarke. You know I didn't mean it."

"You were going to let her kill Bellamy," Clarke says weakly.

"I did what I had to," Murphy sighs.

"And that's okay when you do but not when I do?" Clarke asks, tears welling in her eyes. "Really?"

"Maybe that's the way it is," Raven says. "But we got you back, didn't we?" She doesn't sound pleased.

"YOU LEFT ME!" Clarke screams, trying to walk but feeling her knees go weak. "SHE WAS THERE, RAVEN!"

Everyone falls silent.

"It wasn't me!" she says, though her voice is cracking. "And you didn't care! You left me all alone in there! You left me!"

She starts to sob.

"All they did was scream at me!" Clarke chokes out. "And I was all alone in there and no one came! NO ONE CAME FOR ME!"

"Clarke, take it easy," Bellamy says, standing up and holding his arms out, as if asking her to walk into them.

"No one came for me," Clarke repeats, a scream stuck in her throat, and her hands are trembling. She seriously considers tearing her own eyes out, because it's all too much, too fast, and she can't breathe, can't see, her head spinning and spinning and spinning.

"You weren't..." she says faintly, and then the floor is rushing towards her, a corner of a table hitting her hard in the face before she passes out.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Bellamy says, stroking her face two days later.

"For the thirty-fourth time. It's okay," Clarke says sullenly, turning away from the contact. "Where's the chip?"

"With Gabriel," Bellamy says quietly.

"Mm," she says impassively sitting down on her bed. "I take it you didn't come here to touch my face and apologize, right?"

Bellamy laughs weakly, and Clarke finds that she prefers his laugh to silence. "No," he says. "I mean, I guess. I don't know."

He comes to sit next to her.

They've been talking a little since she woke up, yet it feels simultaneously easier yet tenser right now.

"I thought I lost you," Bellamy breathes.

Their fingers drift together, and Clarke's breath hitches.

"You didn't lose me," she says, and then pulls her hand away. "But you should've."

She hears Bellamy inhales sharply. "What?"

"What reason did I have to come back?" Clarke asks, standing up and facing him. "Madi's a commander. She's strong, and she doesn't need me."

Bellamy watches her, his lips slightly parted in shock.

"Raven wishes I was dead. Emori wishes I was dead. Echo wishes I was dead. Murphy got so excited, so willing to help when he found out that they took me. To save his own ass. I betray. I hurt. I make you all angry with my very presence."

"Clarke," Bellamy says.

"I SHOULD'VE DIED!" Clarke snarls. "WHY SHOULD I BE HERE RIGHT NOW?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!" Bellamy screams, equally emotional.

A look.

A second.

One.

Two.

Three.

Mouths crashing together, her hands tugging at his hair. His hands, snaking under the hem of her shirt and moving to cup her breasts, more, more, more, more, more. A leg wrapping around his body, then another one, lips parting for a moment so she can tug his shirt off and he can do the same, and then his lips trailing down her neck, lower, lower, lower. Their bodies fall to the bed, all layers of clothing flung away.

And it's just them.

He's gentle, yet at the same time—not.

It's perfect. Desperate, whispered words in intimate places.

_I love you._

Pulling her closer, burying himself deeper in her. She moans into his shoulder. More, more, more.

_I love you._

Bellamy.

Bellamy was her defining moment.

Bellamy changed everything.

With love.

An object of

infinite density

and

zero volume.

Bellamy.

Bellamy is the singularity.

They were wrong.

Clarke is good.

Bellamy knows that.

She tries.

She doesn’t always fail.

She can bring peace.

She does have a good heart.

It has to be true.

It is true.

And although those people in her mind had not lied, Lexa had spoken the deepest truth of all.

That Clarke was not bad simply because she didn’t always make a preferable choice in her efforts to be good.

Maybe she really is meant to be the singularity of her own life.

(it’s up to me.)

(I can define it.)

What is the constant of all Clarke has done?

What is the constant of all Clarke wants to return to?

Love.

Clarke can love.

Love drives her to do the right thing because maybe, just maybe, her love has kept her friends alive.

And if she can love them, and they

(Bellamy)

can love her, she can love herself.

Love is the singularity.

The defining moment.

And love... love is what makes Clarke good.

And for the first time in a long time, she believes it.

Bellamy is her singularity.

Their love is the singularity.

(love, Clarke.)

(your love is of infinite density and zero volume.)

(your love makes you good.)

(and you are the singularity.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She just wants to be loved ok man  
> Also the gist in case y’all didn’t get it is that Clarke had to learn to believe in herself I guess in order to find the validation she so desperately wanted her whole life.  
> who wants John Murphy’s POV???  
> comments and kudos!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are welcome!!!


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